


The Headless Horsewoman

by Moriwen



Category: The Wizard of Oz & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Gen, Magic, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriwen/pseuds/Moriwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Langwidere developed the peculiar talent of removing her head, and why she doesn't talk about her family: a story which I have not told you before, my dear, as I did not want to frighten you...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Headless Horsewoman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kristin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristin/gifts).



The princesses of Ev were arguing.

  
This was not, of itself, an uncommon occurrence. The princesses were (as sisters so often are) of rather opposite temperaments, which did not lend itself to a peaceful household. Vivian, the elder of the sisters, was of a lively and curious temperament, always wandering off in search of adventure, and with a tendency to damage her furniture through misuse. Langwidere, on the other hand, was a quiet and complacent girl, willing to sit for hours in her own company, with only a basket of mending to keep her company. And despite having grown up in the royal household together, the princesses had not managed to rub off each other’s rough edges; and as a result, they were forever at each other’s throats.

 

No, the remarkable thing was not the argument itself, but rather the point of contention. The princesses were not (as was their wont) angry about the aftermath of one of Vivian’s pranks, nor were they disputing what the Royal Cooks should make for dinner. Dear reader, I must admit it -- they were arguing about Men.

 

“I sha’n’t marry him!” cried Vivian, her pretty face flushed a bright red. “I sha’n’t, I sha’n’t, I sha’n’t!”

 

“Indeed you sha’n’t!” Langwidere responded with equal vigor, stomping her foot on the discarded swaths of white fabric which lay about the floor where she had thrown them. “You marry him, indeed! You’d just go wandering off to see the world, and leave him all alone and lonely.”

 

“So I shall,” Vivian retorted, undeterred by her sister’s disapproval. “I’ll go off and find my fortune, and then I’ll never see him again -- for I hate him, hate him, hate him!”

 

“You don’t hate him,” Langwidere contradicted, “no one could -- he’s born to be a Prince, Father said so.”

 

“Father’s only a Prince himself,” said Vivian, with all the cruelty she could muster, “and so he’s like to be as long as he lives.”

 

“Then he’d know all about it, I think,” Langwidere answered sensibly.

 

Langwidere’s calm did nothing to soothe Vivian, who snapped, “If you like the man so much, why don’t you marry him yourself? Then I’d be free to do as I like, and good riddance to him!”

 

“I’d be glad to,” Langwidere replied, “only you know the law as well as I -- the elder daughter must be married first, and as all you want to do is go off wandering, I think you’ll never marry, and I’ll be left an old maid. And it’s no use trying to get Uncle Evoldo to give in -- goodness knows I’ve tried.”

 

Vivian gathered up the long white skirts Langwidere had been hemming, and knelt down on the floor beside her sister. “Perhaps we could fool him! We could trade places -- and we’d tell this sweetheart of yours, of course, but once the King found out, we’d be married already!”

 

“It’s no use,” Langwidere answered, despondent, “he’d see through it in a heartbeat. We’re the same height, no more -- I’d never pass for you, not at a wedding with everyone watching.”

 

“If anyone can do it,” Vivian encouraged, “you can. You know you can, if you’ll only try!”

 

Now, dear reader, there’s one thing which I’ve neglected to tell you. Langwidere, you see, was a witch. She certainly wasn’t an evil witch, but she wasn’t really a good witch either -- in fact, she wasn’t much of a witch at all. She rarely bothered to practise, you see, and of course even a witch can’t be much good at what she does if she never practises.

 

But Langwidere was rather vain, and being told that she could fool Evoldo, she began to think that she really could. And as you know, there’s nothing like really believing that you can do something to make you able to do it. So the princess went and locked herself up in her room, and played the mandolin, which helped her think. And she wouldn’t come out, not even for supper, which was rice pudding, and her favorite.

 

But when it was quite dark, and all of their little Royal Cousins had been put to bed by the Royal Nursemaids, Langwidere opened her door just a crack, and peeped out to see if any of them had gotten up for a glass of milk. It was still as could be, so opening the door as quiet as could be, the princess crept out and ran through the hallways in her nightgown to find her sister.

 

Vivian wasn’t in bed at all, though it was very late. Instead, she was playing ping-pong against the gilt wall, and only half-dressed (for she had taken off her dress to free her arms) in her shift and her stocking-feet. She dropped the ball when Langwidere walked in (without knocking), and, peeved, threw it at her sister’s head.

 

“You needn’t do that,” Langwidere said sulkily, “I’ve only come to show you what I’ve discovered -- but I suppose I sha’n’t, now. I’ll just go back to bed.” And she made a show of turning to leave.

 

But Vivian knew Langwidere better than anyone, so she threw herself at her sister at once, and, putting her arms around her neck, embraced her and kissed her, and said, “O, dear, clever Langwidere, won’t you show me? I’ve never seen anyone do such pretty magic as you do.”

 

And Langwidere, quite mollified, sat down on the silken coverlets with her sister to show her.

 

What Langwidere had discovered was one of the Terrible Magics, which are forbidden in all the land of Oz. This one permitted a person, equipped with a magic paintbrush and a special sort of paints, to take the head from off a living person by simply painting a circle all about their neck. It is not, in fact, a difficult magic, only it may not be taught (for reasons you shall see) and so of course few people know how to do it. But Langwidere, for all her faults, was really rather clever when she cared to be, and so she had come up with the idea quite on her own.

 

“That will certainly fool them!” said Vivian, delighted. “Hurry and change heads with me, and tomorrow you may go and marry him, and I’ll go off and see the world.”

 

“Only you mustn’t run off with my head,” Langwidere reminded her sister, “but tomorrow night come up to my bedroom through the window -- you know the way -- and we’ll exchange again. Then you may go anywhere you like.”

 

So Langwidere drew circles about first Vivian’s neck and then her own with the paint (it was a rather peculiar orange color, and stained the bedclothes when it dripped), and each one put on the other’s head.

 

“How queer!” said Langwidere, looking in the mirror at Vivian’s face. “I feel quite different somehow.”

 

“It’s only a head cold,” said Vivian with Languidere’s mouth, “I’ve had it all day -- until now, that is.”

 

“That’s just like you,” grumbled Langwidere, “giving me a cold when I’m trying to do you a favor.”

 

“Oh, do go to bed and stop grumbling,” said Vivian. “I suppose I shall have to sleep in your room for tonight, if we’re to do this right.”

 

Langwidere yawned, and covered her new mouth with her hand. “Very well, only don’t touch anything.”

 

“I shall have to touch the bed, in any case,” said Vivian sensibly, and left.

 

Vivian slept very well indeed, for no one had a finer bed than Langwidere, and getting up early in the morning she made the bed neatly, folding down the corners of the crisp purple sheets, and (going to the Royal Dining Hall, and finding it empty) made breakfast for herself and for the rest of the family. The sausages were delicious and the biscuits light and fluffy, as biscuits should be, but there was no sign of Langwidere.

 

“It’s not like Vivian to sleep in so late,” said Evoldo (for of course he had mistaken Vivian for Langwidere, whose head she was wearing). “I hope she is not sick. I’m sure there’s nothing more unpleasant than to be sick on one’s wedding day.”

 

“I would think a great many things would be more unpleasant,” answered Vivian. “To be burned alive, for instance, or to be eaten by a large and hungry bear. I should certainly like to avoid that.”

 

And soon enough everyone was running and bustling about getting ready for the wedding, and the bride was all but forgotten. So Vivian crept upstairs, quiet as a mouse, and rapped on the door where she had left her sister.

 

“Come in!” said Langwidere imperiously, but in Vivian’s voice, which was very strange indeed to hear (or so Vivian thought). But she thought it stranger still when she opened the door and saw what was inside.

 

Langwidere-with-Vivian’s-head was not wearing the lacy white wedding dress at all. She was dressed in overalls which must have belonged to the groom, for they were much too big for her (and Langwidere was not a small woman) and the cuffs were rolled up nearly to her knees. The magic paintbox was tucked into a scarf tied round her waist, but she wore no other ornament at all (and you must understand that Langwidere had been known as very fond of ornaments, particularly the curious and rare).

 

“Whatever are you doing?” Vivian cried.

 

“I’m running away, sister dear,” Langwidere replied cheerfully. “I’ll be back someday, I’m sure.”

 

“But the marriage!” Vivian objected. “Your husband!”

 

“You may have him, if you like,” answered Langwidere, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ve no use for him, in any case. I’ve never met such a dull man. I want to see the world. Good-bye!”

 

And with that, Langwidere swung her legs over the window-seat where she was sitting, and hopped out.

 

Vivian rushed over to the window, but Langwidere was already halfway down the wall; it took her only a few moments more to reach the bottom, and then, waving jauntily, she leapt on the horse which was waiting for her, kicked its sides vigorously, and took off running.

 

Vivian stood at the window for a long time, looking through eyes not her own.

 

* * *

 

It would be many years until Langwidere returned, with a caravan full of spices and strange beasts and heads each more beautiful than the last; and when she did, and when she took back the head she had been born with (and if that doesn't make a head yours, I don't know what does) she put it in a cabinet full of glass and mirrors, and marked it No. 26. There it remained until one Dorothy Gale happened by, and for all I know there it may be still.

  
Langwidere rarely wears it, but on the second Saturday of every month she unlocks the cabinet with her ruby key and takes it out and looks at it for a while. Then she puts it back, and if it doesn't gather dust, it's only because Nanda keeps a very clean house.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not L. Frank Baum, although goodness knows enough other people have published Oz books in any case. Thanks to him for letting me play in his universe, and to you for reading.


End file.
